Another World: House of the Holy

BY : estromale
Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold!
Dragon prints: 2400
Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Title: Another World: House of the Holy
Author: Pedro D. Nunez
Genre: Crossover fem slash: Helga Pataki and Gaz Membrane. Rated NC-17 because I decided to put in the naughty bits in all its glory. If it sounds bad, forgive my maleness.
You ask me why I do this? Ha! I was bored out of my mind, and now my mind is influenced from homemade chicken soup, Evanescence lyrics and a high after writing one of my closest friends and my girlfriend in a slash! Plus, it’s inspired from a really racy picture I drew of the two of them! ^-^ I don’t own the characters (DUH, people) Nick does, and whoever’s reading this.... I pity you. I pity your pathetic soul.

Helga kept her hands in her shabby pink parka as she entered D’yer Mak’er Private school for the first time. She was in no hurry to climb up its granite steps and get lost in the crowd of sheep that were high school students headed to class. Registration was not exactly the most forthright thing in her mind. In fact, none of these people, this school, or even the state of Wisconsin, had her attention: it demanded it of her.
It seemed a long time ago that Big Bod lod lost it when he found out his second daughter, far from the academic and musical excellence of her older sister Olga, was dating her best friend, mousy Phoebe Hyerdal. Oh, she knew he’d care, but not to the point where everyday was a battle of wits and screaming, won by no one. Helga dating a girl was unacceptable to him, was jut wrong. Miriam, her own mother, had to do her best to keep the family together; to make it stop, but it wasn’t enough to stop Big Bob. Phoebe though...she knew what was happening and she suffered, knowing her own parents would understand what love meant: Bob never would. It was an ultimatum: either remain with Helga and make every day of her life misery, or let her go and suffer her own pain. In the end, Helga thought she was stupid for not knowing what Phoebe would choose. The month of hell after, seeing Phoebe in school, outside on her laptop and sometimes watching the Pataki’s house wistfully grated on Helga’s soul. Then Bob announced they were moving to Wisconsin, to get the beeper businesses relocated and make a killing with other electronics. He was expanding, and this meant a more financial security for the family. He didn’t mind his younger daughter no longer speaking to him and sent her to private school, where he secretly hoped that all her “foolishness” would be stamped out.
The good news was that the uniform was not strictly administered as many other private schools. The bad news was that Helga didn’t give a damn. This Helga didn’t mind being the outcast or lashing out at her loss.
Classes seemed to go on for hours and study hall was no better. The desks were too small, the teacher talked too fast, the kids were too stupid. Helga had plenty of reasons for hating D’yer Mak’er.
She sat by herself outside, where people had their lunch. She managed to choke down half of a meatball sub, settling in one of the farther parts of the schoolyard, a more grassy area where she could sit and think. Helga sighed, feeling a slight chill of the winter months ahead. She tucked her shirt safely underneath her legs and took out a blue college-ruled notebook. She sat lotus position and took out a wallet, revealing a photo of the girl Bob would have rather Helga had forgotten: there was Phoebe, her hair flowing freely in the wind, a ring of garlands highlighting her glossy black hair. She was laughing in the picture, her bare feet roaming carelessly the dew of that morning. Helga remembered tackling her in kisses that day in the park, and only laughing as an elderly looked at them, scandalized.
All gone, Helga said to herself, looking wistfully at the photo. She couldn’t cry about it anymore: she’d wasted all that time crying on Arnold’s shoulder the night Phoebe broke up with her. Good old dependable football head: Arnold had only recently given up the facade that was picture-perfect Lila and had instead opted for quirky little Eugene. Arnold couldn’t have been happier, but he’d taken a lot of looks from his friends for it. Not from Gerald, of course. Gerald was not the kind to desert a friend. Harold, Stinky and Sid, though...they’d been unnecessarily rough on Arnold, and had bullied him. No wonder she had beaten the stuffing out of all of them the night she lost Phoebe and overheard them taunting Arnold and insinuating things about him and Gerald.
Yep, such good friends, Helga thought with scorn, idly wrapping her finger around a blade of grass, then picking it and blowing it so it made a shrill whistling sound. Helga shrugged, opening her notebook and gazing at all the tortured, angst-ridden poetry contained within. What a bunch of crap, Helga thought, sniffling. That wasn’t was good poetry to her...but it hurt to get it out anyway, and it hurt to read it.
For a moment, Helga was so engrossed in her own writing that she didn’t notice a person sitting a few feet away from her, until she heard wispy breathing. Her arm immediately was on edge, ready to pound Brainy again for coming up behind her...
“Hey! Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” She heard a whiney voice she said. She turned her glare set to liquefy.
She was a strange looking kid, really: red messy hair, wire rimmed glasses, a baggy orange shirt, braces and tan khaki shorts, looking intently at Helga, careful to avoid her fists.
“What’s your problem anyway?” Helga said, looking defensive. “Don’t you know how to leave the new kid alone? You don’t know where I might have come from, bucko! I could be here because I have parents that want me to shape up, ok? Kids aren’t allowed in Attica!”
The girl looked put off for a moment, then burst out laughing, offering her hand. “You’re not half as scary as you think you are. But since you’re kind enough to talk to me, I might as well give you mine. The name’s Eliza.”
“Well good for you, Liza,” Helga said, not dropping her offending tone, “But since there’s nothing on my forehead that says ‘company,’ why don’t you take your scrawny...”
“Who’s the blond girl?” A voice said, sounding raspy and as defensive as Helga’s did. She looked up and saw a girl even more curious looking than Eliza: she was about five foot two with purple highlights, a striped shirt and purple skirt, ending with stripped socks and black boots. The skull on her shirt, though, was what caught Helga’s attention.
“And what are you supposed to be, freak show number two?” Helga said, her eyes narrowing. “You know, if I didn’t think this school was weird enough, I have to see people that are totally...”
“Oh be quiet!” the girl barked. “I didn’t come here for YOU. I came here for sunburst over there, and since she’s a friend of mine, why don’t you change your tone!”
Eliza giggled at being called “sunburst,” but Helga was not laughing. In fact, she had gotten up now, and had her fists clenched.
“I. Don’t. Change. My. Tone. For. Nobody,” Helga said through her gritted teeth. “In fact, I’m starting to think you’re asking to meet with ol’ Betsy. She doesn’t take kindly to loud mouth goth-wannabees who bother a person’s peace!”
“Oh right...I’m real scared of someone who names their fists,” the girl snickered, and now Helga was starting to get more angry, Who did they think they were,way?way?”
“Aw, come on guys,” A voice said, and Helga turned to see a brown haired girl with a ten gallon hat with a fake pink flower, a white blouse and ripped jeans walk up to them. Helga noticed with distaste the girl’s buck teeth and bare feet. “There’s no need fer this fussin’ and fightin’!”
“You stay out of this Sandy,” the girl replied, a glare on her face. “If blondie over here wants to act better than everyone else, I’ll be willing to show her...”
“What?!” Helga was indignant. “You were the one that came marching over here with your swagger and...”
“Um, I hate to interrupt, but are these yours?” Eliza said, offering the notebook to Helga. “These poems...”
“HEY!” Helga ripped the notebook angrily from the redheaded girl’s hands. “These poems are not meant to be read! How dare, God!” Helga could feel tears coming to her eyes. “Will you just stay the hell away from my stuff and me, all of you?”
“Gladly,” The purple haired girl said, returning an angry stare, but a hand came to her shoulder. “Easy Gaz...this girl’s as angry as you were, remember? Come on...let’s just introduce ourselves.”
“Were?” Gaz said with a scoff. Helga was about to come up with another remark, but declined. The boy with the throaty voice had brown hair with a streak of green in them, a black trench coat, and a backward pink hat, which completely clashed with everything. “My name’s Timmy...Timmy Turner.”
The red headed girl smiled, her metal braces glaring in the sun, and curtsied slightly. “Eliza Thornberry.”
The purple haired girl still glared, but shrugged her shoulders. “Gaz....Gaz Membrane.”
“And ah’m Sandy Cheeks,” the girl with the hat replied. “Pleased t’make your acquaintance!”
Grief, she’s like a refugee from Green Acres, Helga thought icily, but decided it might not hurt to be a little nice. “Helga G. Pataki. Anyone makes fun of the name, they deal with me, ok?”
Gaz rolled her eyes. “Like our names aren’t strange enough?”
“My name’s not that strange!” Timmy insisted.
“Oh no, if you don’t have cable TV, I’m sure your name’s great!” Gaz said, snickering.
Helga had to laugh a little herself. It WAS a little funny. The girl was more like her than she gave her credit for.

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